Orlla’s pulse boomed in her ears until she could bear it no longer. She ran to him and trailed her fingers gently down his cheek, trying desperately to hold back her own choking sobs as her gaze held his.
“The little ones …” Erdhan stammered. “Slain.”
Orlla let out a muted moan, the endearing image of Erdhan’s blond, curly-haired brothers wrestling with each other in front of the hearth tearing at her heartstrings until she thought the searing pain would rend her in two. She couldn’t begin to imagine how deeply Erdhan was suffering, and she didn’t know how to reach him. He scarcely seemed present, his crushed spirit speaking some foreign tongue that rendered him a stranger to her.
He swore and slammed his fist on the open door. “Left to rot like refuse in their beds,” he spat out through clenched teeth.
Orlla gripped his calloused hand in hers. “We will bury them before we leave for the sinking bogs.”
“No, not yet,” Erdhan rasped, pushing past her. “Franz and my parents might still be alive. I need to look for them.”
A fresh wave of pain assuaged Orlla, as Franz’s shy, kindly demeanor and Catrain’s warm smile flashed to mind. Even Josef, gruff as he could be at times, didn’t deserve to be cut down in cold blood. She only hoped for Erdhan’s sake they had escaped the slaughter and could offer each other some measure of comfort in their grief.
She followed Erdhan over to the others. He opened his mouth, but choked up and looked away, sniffing back his tears.
Orlla took a steadying breath. “His younger brothers are dead, but the older one, Franz, is not among them—no sign of his parents either.”
“I have to find out if they’re alive,” Erdhan said in a voice thick with emotion. “They may have fled to the temporary camp they were preparing in the woods.” He looked around with an air of forced hopefulness.
“That would explain why all the homes are deserted,” Khor responded, although his tone was dubious.
“We’ll leave the horses here to rest and accompany you out to the camp,” Orlla said to Erdhan, dispelling the doubt that nagged at her innards. Catrain would never intentionally leave her younger boys behind. But, it was possible she had been at the camp delivering supplies when the raid happened. Erdhan was clinging to a glimmer of hope that some of his family had survived, and Orlla wasn’t about to rob him of that hope, no matter how slim. She was thankful Khor was of a similar mindset. It appeared the Protector had a heart, after all.
They wasted no time stabling the horses in what was left of the barn and then followed Erdhan into the forest. Orlla couldn’t help but notice that Khor kept one hand on the hilt of his sword as they wended their way along the trail that led to the hidden camp. She slipped a hand inside her cloak and traced the shape of the dagger pressed to her side. After what they had witnessed, it was wise to be prepared for anything. Brufus’s soldiers might have found the camp for all they knew.
Overhead, a rosy sun trickled through a lacy canopy of spreading branches, a warmth that was at odds with the chill that had gripped Orlla’s heart. The return of the sun’s light and warmth to the mainland was nothing short of a miracle, but the senseless evil it had unleashed loomed large in her thoughts. Birds warbled to one another, and field mice scuttled across their path as they crunched dry leaf litter underfoot—all while Erdhan’s little brothers lay rotting. The injustice of it stirred up a rage inside her that was stronger than anything she had ever felt before.
Respectful of Erdhan’s grief, the group exchanged few words as they wove their way through the towering oaks and yew trees, trying to match his relentless pace. When they finally converged on the camp, he gave three piercing whistles. A grimy face peeked out from behind a thick curtain of creepers that concealed the entrance to the cave housing the camp’s supplies. A heartbeat later, a young woman clutching an infant to her chest appeared.
“Erdhan!” she cried out. “We did not dare hope there were more survivors.”
He darted over to her and gripped her by the shoulders. “Are you all right, Frieda?”
She nodded, tears streaking down through the dirt on her cheeks. Several other harried faces appeared behind her—women with young children clutching their skirts, and a handful of older men and women stooped with age.
“Is Franz among your number?” Erdhan’s eyes roamed frantically over the motley group assembling behind Frieda.
She stared at him for a long moment, fear like the piercing grip of ice in her eyes.
“What is it? Has something happened to him?” Erdhan pressed.
Frieda dropped her distraught gaze. “They took him with them.”
“Who?” Erdhan demanded, shaking her. “Who took him?”
“Brufus’s soldiers.”
Erdhan let his trembling fingers slide from Frieda’s shoulders. The look of desperation in his eyes drove another stake through Orlla’s heart. “We must go after them,” he said in a half-whisper.
“That is what Brufus is counting on,” Akolom answered. “He is using your brother as bait to get his hands on the Opal of Light. We would be walking into a trap.”
Erdhan’s jaw tightened. “You will not dissuade me from this path. I will hunt down Brufus and his henchmen alone if I have to, but I will go after my brother. Nothing will induce me to leave him in Brufus’s clutches for the sake of the dragon stone.” He leveled an imploring gaze at Frieda. “What news of my parents?”
Frieda shook her head. “I do not know of their whereabouts. I was working in the fields with my babe in my arms when the soldiers rode into town. I fled at once to the camp as we had planned. Some of the other women here told me they saw one of the soldiers bind Franz’s hands behind his back and set him upon a horse. Your parents were not with him.”
Frieda’s gaze darted around the group. “Have the soldiers left Wilefur yet?”
“We’ve only been by the outlying farms,” Orlla replied. “It would be better for you to remain in the camp for now. The homesteads have been plundered and razed, and the soldiers might come back.”
“You should have more than enough provisions here for several months,” Erdhan said.
Frieda gave a tearful nod. “Are you really going to pursue Brufus?”
Erdhan tightened his jaw. “My brother is but a lad. I will not leave him in the clutches of Brufus the Bonebreaker.” He turned to the others. “Before we depart for the sinking bogs I must search Wilefur for my parents. Perhaps someone in the town offered them shelter, or they are hiding in a cellar somewhere.”
“We’ll help you,” Orlla said, with a nod of acknowledgement, giving Khor a sharp look when he opened his mouth to protest.
After they had taken their leave of Frieda and the other survivors, Erdhan led the way back through the forest and along the main thoroughfare into town. No one uttered a word when they came upon a slew of shattered stalls. Dead leaves cartwheeled over the rubble-strewn street in a light breeze. As they drew closer, they could make out several bodies strewn among the debris and pinned beneath the overturned tables of the merchants. Bleating goats perused the smashed pies, skeins of wool, and spilled barrels of fish that lay scattered across the street, rotting in the sun.
Orlla clasped a hand over her mouth when she spotted Catrain’s friend Lydya sprawled on her back, trapped beneath an upturned cart outside the bakery, her hair matted to the crusted blood on the left side of her head, her lifeless eyes open and staring.
Erdhan grabbed Orlla’s hand, pulling her away from the mangled body.
“Look! Up ahead!” Akolom said in a chilling tone.
Orlla lifted her head and froze. Hanging from the rafters of the tavern were two bodies.
Chapter 4
Time stood still as Orlla’s eyes traveled over the limp bodies swaying ever so slightly back and forth in the breeze. Her breathing quickened as her heart slugged against her ribs. A rotund man in a leather apron and a slight woman—heads drooped to their chests—unmistakably Erdhan’s parents.
Beside her, Erdhan dropped to his knees, bellowing in pain like a branded animal. His fingernails dragged through the dirt beneath him, intersecting lines of grief ravaging his face.
Khor locked eyes with Orlla. “His parents?”
She confirmed it with a nod, her throat closed up like a dried-out river bed.
Khor muttered something indecipherable under his breath and then strode down the rutted street toward the tavern. Orlla placed a hand on Erdhan’s shaking shoulder, biting her lip as Khor cut down Josef’s and Catrain’s bodies and laid them side-by-side on a nearby cart. More than ever, she was grateful Khor had offered to accompany them on this mission. Protectors were trained to set aside their emotions, and right now he was the only one among them with the physical and emotional strength to do what needed to be done.
A couple of hours later, they stood around the humble family grave Khor had volunteered to dig behind the blacksmith’s forge while Erdhan and Samten reshod the horses. Orlla fought down a fresh wave of grief and anger as she gazed into the hole, inhaling the aroma of freshly-turned dirt warmed by the sun—the bitter irony of it not lost on her. Catrain and Josef lay with their hands clasped in front of them, their two young sons tucked between them as though they were sleeping. Erdhan stared woodenly at his parents’ swollen faces, his forced composure masking the agony and rage that swirled beneath.
Akolom gave a short but moving invocation for blessing in the second life, after which Khor enlisted Samten to help him fill in the grave. Orlla took Erdhan by the elbow and gently steered him away from the graveside and into the suffocating silence of the house. She seated him in a rickety wooden chair by the hearth while she set a fire and hung up the kettle to boil. “I’ll brew something to warm your stomach before we leave.”
Erdhan grunted, his brow furrowed in thought.
Sensing his need to contemplate his loss in peace and quiet, Orlla made no attempt to engage him in idle conversation. When the water had boiled, she offered him a mug of nettle tea, but he pushed it away. “I can’t stomach anything.”
“You should try and drink a little,” Orlla urged. “It will calm your nerves.”
Erdhan narrowed his eyes at her. “I have no desire to dull my senses. I wish for my blood to be seething when I finally catch up with Brufus.”
Orlla grimaced at the thought of Erdhan going after the Pegonian monarch in a fit of blind rage and nebulous reason. “Don’t let your anger become your enemy,” she cautioned him. “We cannot afford to be reckless and jeopardize our mission. We need to think this through before—”
“We?” Erdhan interrupted, springing to his feet, his fingers curling into fists. “If it hadn’t been for you, my family would still be alive. Brufus tortured and killed them to find out where you were.”
The thunder of Orlla’s pulse filled her ears, the accusation stinging like a whip. She rose and tossed the dregs of her tea into the fire. Her insides churned but she reminded herself that Erdhan was reacting out of grief. “How can you blame me for what that monster did?” she responded, taking care to keep her voice steady. “Brufus had already declared war on Macobin. It was only a matter of time before he came through towns and villages, pillaging and plundering.”
“He sought my family out for special treatment because of you,” Erdhan said in a frigid tone unrecognizable to Orlla.
She stared back at him, mouth agape. His jovial manner had been replaced by a decidedly hostile bearing and even the light in his dazzling blue eyes had gone out, clouded with equal parts anger and grief.
“Please,” she said in a placating tone. “I know you’re angry and distraught, and I understand you want to blame someone for what happened, but Brufus is the cur behind this travesty. I swear to you we will hunt him down and hold him accountable for what he has done. But don’t push me away in the process.”
Ignoring her outstretched hand, Erdhan stomped across the room, turning in the doorway to face her. “We part ways today. You have your mission to find and destroy the Onyx of Darkness. I have mine to find my brother, Franz, and rip the heart from the blaggard who murdered the rest of my family. I am my father’s son, and I will avenge his honor no matter the cost.” He stared coldly at her for a long moment, his eyes hard and unyielding, before shoving open the door. “This is not your war to fight,” he called back to her. “Fare well, Orlla of the house of Radmount.”
She flinched as the door slammed shut behind him, echoing around the space. A shiver went down her spine as she tried to make sense of what had happened. Granted, Erdhan was lashing out from a place of profound pain, but it felt as if there was something more going on. No matter the cost. This is not your war to fight. He was deliberately trying to push her away, and not just because of the unwitting role she had played in his family’s brutal murder. What was he trying to protect her from? Himself—a rage he feared he couldn’t control, or something he was planning to do?
The ominous thought hung with her as she doused the fire in the hearth. Erdhan couldn’t possibly hope to single-handedly avenge the murder of his family and rescue his brother without a sound plan. He needed help to go up against seasoned soldiers—he could sorely use the advice of a veteran like Khor, and the wisdom of a mentor like Akolom. She grimaced at the sound of hooves pounding down the dirt road away from the house. It was clear Erdhan wasn’t in the mood to listen to reason, regardless of the source. With a heavy sigh, she stowed the kettle and went outside to find the others.
Khor and Samten were busy tending to the horses in the barn. Orlla walked up to Akolom who was sharpening a knife at the forge. “Did Erdhan tell you where he was going?”
“Yes.” Akolom twisted the blade, studying it. “If you are planning on asking us to chase blindly after him, you know we cannot. There is much at stake that will determine the fate of many innocent lives, and we simply do not have time to become sidetracked with personal vendettas. The dark dragon stone will surely lay waste to the world if we don’t destroy it before its power takes hold.”
“It’s not a matter of revenge,” Orlla said. “We have a chance to save Franz’s life. If Brufus is traveling north on his way back to Pegonia, it won’t require a detour to intercept him, and we can make up any time lost by riding night and day through the sinking bogs.”
“Erdhan warned me not to follow him,” Akolom replied grimly. “He insisted he can travel more stealthily without us. If we shadow him, we may inadvertently give him away to Brufus’s patrols.”
“He’s only saying that to protect us.” Orlla fixed a determined gaze on her mentor. “I too know the agony of a lost brother. I will not let Erdhan suffer alone like this. He helped me look for Samten—stuck by me through every danger until I found him—and I am resolved to do whatever it takes to help him find Franz in return.”
For a long moment Akolom said nothing, his eyes fraught with ambivalence. The lines on his brow tightened when he eventually spoke. “Very well. We will give ourselves over to this cause for one day.” He blew the dust off his knife and sheathed it. “If we have not found Franz by nightfall, we must abandon the hunt and blaze a trail directly to the Strylieht mountains. I will travel on by myself if I must.”
Orlla nodded her thanks, relief flooding through her. “I’ll instruct Khor and Samten to ready the horses while I pack up some food for the journey.”
The mood was somber as they departed Wilefur. No one relished the thought of another encounter with the cold-blooded Pegonian monarch and his soldiers. Brufus had made it abundantly clear by his ruthless rampage through Wilefur that he would stop at nothing to get his hands on the Opal of Light. Orlla had no idea what Erdhan’s plan was once he caught up with Brufus, or how he intended to rescue Franz. He likely didn’t know himself. While she had every confidence in Erdhan’s stealth skills, he wasn’t going about his brother’s rescue with foresight and planning. His actions sprang from a place of raw rage, and that gave her pause. Emotions were not their friend in the situation before them. She only hoped they f
ound Erdhan before he could attempt any ill-planned rescue doomed to failure. He needed a solid plan, and he needed all of their skills to enact it.
“How old is Erdhan’s brother?” Samten asked.
“Twelve, and somewhat small and frail for his age.” Orlla sighed. “Which is why we cannot abandon him. He has no hope of escaping Brufus’s clutches without help.”
“Erdhan is more fool than I believed him to be if he thinks he can take on Brufus and his soldiers alone,” Samten said, echoing Orlla’s sentiments.
She shot him what she hoped was a reassuring look that masked her true feelings. “Erdhan will not attempt to fight them—he will outsmart them. He freed me from Brufus’s camp. I’ll wager the guards never heard him coming or going.”
Samten looked intrigued. “Perhaps he could teach me a trick or two.”
Orlla gave a wry grin. “I doubt it.”
For the next watch, they rode hard until they spotted a telltale cloud of dust on the highway up ahead. Following Khor’s lead, they diverted the horses into the trees and hugged the road for another furlong or so until a lone rider appeared in the distance.
“No helm on his head. Doesn’t look like a soldier,” Khor said dubiously. “He’s coming this way. Stay hidden for now.”
Orlla held her breath as the figure gradually drew closer. Her pulse picked up pace. Loose blond curls bounced atop his head, but even from here she could tell the shoulders weren't broad enough to be Erdhan’s. “It’s Franz!” she exclaimed.
Before anyone could stop her, she leapt down from her horse and ran to the side of the road, waving frantically to him. “Franz! It’s Orlla!”
He hesitated, eyes widening in recognition, and then trotted toward her. Tears streaked down his face as he slid from his horse and fell into Orlla’s embrace. His narrow shoulders shook as she rested her chin on his head and stroked his matted hair. She couldn’t help wondering if Brufus had forced him to witness his parents’ execution. He had suffered more than any child should have to bear in a lifetime. When at length his sobs petered out, she lifted his chin and looked into his eyes. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
Onyx of Darkness: An epic dragon fantasy (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2) Page 3